Paint the Desert
by LostinOblivion
Summary: What if Borderline hadn't ended so well?
1. Days 1 and 2

FYI: This picks up after Ramon knows that Felix slept with his sisters, but before Matt and Emily drive off into the sunrise.

* * *

Ramón stood still poised over Felix, grimy machete threatening to slice his cousins head clean off. Matt and Emily on their knees, still firmly held down to the ground, waiting for their lives to end. They were both out of miracles, out of options, and obviously out of time.

Ramon suddenly backed off, barked out some order in Spanish, and tore out of the broken down little house. Matt and Emily were yanked up, and pushed out the door toward the SUVs. Two men assisted Felix roughly behind them, and as all three were pushed into the vehicles, they could here the solid crack of a gunshot and knew the agent had been put out of his misery.

Their captors forced dirty rags into their mouths, tieing another rag around their heads to hold the gags in. Raggedy, filthy pillowcases with rust colored stains, likely from blood, were thrust over their heads. They were in separate cars, an armed man on either side, pushing them back into the seat before, each felt the tell tale jerk of the vehicles as they pulled away.

More than anything at the moment, Emily wished they'd just let Matt go. This was all her fault; she left herself get played, and now she was paying for it. But, Matt shouldn't have to pay for her mistake. All the wishing she could do wasn't going to change their predicament, so she sat rigidly against the seat, her injured arm throbbing. Emily was now completely terrified, plagued with a fear she had never known until that very moment.

Matt breathed in and out slowly, calming his racing heart. They weren't dead yet, he just had to keep telling himself that. They weren't dead quite yet. But, he knew Emily would be giving herself an Everest sized guilt trip at the particular moment. He knew he hadn't convinced her that it wasn't her fault earlier, and he knew he probably never would. Matt had only been really afraid a few times in his life, but the fear he felt right then trumped them all.

For both agents, it was the longest car ride of their lives, as they were both constantly wondering the same thing through it. What was Ramón planning? Why hadn't he killed them yet? Were they going to pull over in a few minutes, so he could slice off their heads? Or, would he wait and torture them for injuring his brother?

The trail of vehicles all came to the same harshly abrupt stop, jolting their passengers, and earning a muffled hiss from Emily as her arm was pushed into the but of one of her captors guns.

The doors of the SUVs all began flying open, and the agents were roughly yanked out, each barely making into to their feet before they were dragged away. It was hard for them to keep up with the armed men who dragged them through the dusty desert, with their hands cuffed behind them and their eyes covered. But, they did, and only knew they were in a building when the unstable sand beneath their feet became a flatter, smoother, wooden surface.

Here the pillow cases came off, and Matt and Emily saw each other alive for the first time since the hour ago that they'd been taken. The cartel members started pulling off the ties around their mouths, ripping out some of Emily's hair in the process and earning another muffled hiss. Dirty fingers dove into their dry mouths retrieving the filthy rags that had gagged them, and took off their belts and accompanying accessories before removing the handcuffs. Finally the frightened agents were pushed, almost to the point of being tossed, into a small room.

They both landed hard on the wooden floor, slamming into each other, and getting a mouth full of the sandy dust the billowed up from the floor at their disturbance. The door swung shut, slamming on impact, and a metallic click confirmed that they were locked in. Uneasily they got to their feet, looking around their new prison, before finally settling on each other.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked, against their current circumstances.

Emily nodded, "You?"

"I'm good," he said with an ironic grin.

"We're screwed."

"Not until they put those machetes against our necks again. Then we'll be screwed."

"Since when are you an optimist?"

"I don't know, a little over a year," he gave her another smile. Cleary he meant since he met her.

"Yeah, I don't know how much good I've done you Matt," she gestured to their room.

"Come here," he waved her over to where he'd moved to the back corner.

She gave him and odd look, but went over to him, sinking to the ground with him.

Matt leaned in the corner, his legs straight out, and pulled Emily against him, wrapping and arm around her, "You've done me plenty of good."

Emily gave a self-deprecating chuckle, but still rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping arms around his waist. Matt leaned down and kissed her, Emily eagerly returning the favor, before they both settled, silently staring blankly toward the other end of their prison.

Hours later they'd both fallen asleep, after passing out from pure exhaustion.

* * *

Mexico, 10 miles passed the border. 1 hour after Matt and Emily were abducted.

"Damn it!" Lestack cursed as he took in the bodies of his two agents.

"There's only two federal agents here. Where the hell are my people?" Cheryl demanded to no one in particular.

"I'm guessing Ramón has them," Lestack spit.

"Why take them alive?"

"If he thinks they know something…?"

"What could he possibly think they know?"

"Don't know, but I can tell you one thing," he said cryptically.

"And what's that?" Cheryl asked, annoyed already.

"If Ramón's got your negotiators, my people got off easy," Lestack said before exiting the small house.

Cheryl breathed in, she had already though of that, but hearing it said out loud made her blood run cold. She flipped open her phone and hit speed dial.

"Mathers."

"Lia, we found the house the were in. the DEA agents are both dead," Cheryl spoke slowly, hearing a sharp intake of breath on the other end after she finished.

"And Matt and Emily?" There was a slight quiver in Lia's voice.

"Not here."

"What? That's a good thing then, right?"

"Unlikely. Probably just means that it will take a couple more days and a few extra forensic experts to identify their…remains," Cheryl faltered slightly.

"You don't think there's any hope?"

"No, Lia. Much as I'd like to believe that…it's just too much to ask at this point."

"So then what can we ask?" Lia asked mildly annoyed at her bosses pessimism.

"That Ramón kills them quickly." There was a visible tremor in her voice, as she snapped the phone shut, bringing a hand to her mouth, and closing her eyes momentarily against the emotion welling inside her.

* * *

**Day 2**

Mexico

Matt woke the next morning head pounding against the dehydration that began setting in, and back sore from leaning into the corner all night. Emily was still passed out against him, her arm wrapped loosely around him. Gingerly he lifted her arm, hoping to exam her puncture wound without waking her. Instead, even at his gentle touch, Emily jolt awake, yelping in pain.

"Easy, I'm just having a look at your arm," he told her soothingly.

Emily looked around, confused in her still sleepy state, before realizing they weren't at home, and settled for just nodding at him, and allowing him to look. She gritted her teeth against the pain as he untied their makeshift tourniquet. The area around the wound was pink, swollen, warm to the touch, and obviously causing Emily a lot of pain.

"Shit, it's infected," he commented, worrying lacing his voice.

"If it were tetanus, I'd be a lot worse then I am now, so I guess I got lucky there."

"I guess we know now that you're up to date on your shots."

"It's still not working as a distraction, Matt."

"Can't blame me for trying," he said with a shrug and a half grin.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"For what?"

"Trying."

Matt kissed her deeply in response, before resting her arm against her body, and getting up and walking toward the door.

"Matt, what are you doing?"

"Hopefully getting help."

"Seriously? You think they'll help us?"

He didn't answer, instead pounding on the door and yelling through it, "Hey! Hey, we need some help in here! Somebody! A little help!"

Emily watched him doubtfully as he spent the next few minutes alternately pounding on the door and yelling.

Finally he gave up and came back toward her, sitting down beside her, and looking at her with a pained expression.

"What?" She asked, slightly alarmed.

"We have to do something about that Em."

"Like what? We don't have a first aid kit. We don't even have peroxide Matt."

"We have to at least get the puss out."

"How- whoa, wait," she cut herself off, already realizing what he was thinking.

"We have to Em. Just grip my arm, while I do it, and squeeze when it hurts."

She looked at him uncertainly, studying his eyes for a few moments before nodding her consent, and placing her hand around his forearm. Matt positioned his hands on either side of the puncture wound, and began squeezing.

Milky, yellow puss leaked out, as Emily squirmed slightly, gripping his arm, and biting her lip against the intense pain. He continued squeezing, even as he felt nails digging into his arm, and felt her twitch involuntarily against the pain.

By the time he got as much of the oozing substance out as he could, Emily was breathing heavily and sweat glistened on her brow. He wiped it off with the now useless tourniquet; it was dirty and she wasn't bleeding anymore.

Matt kissed her forehead and pulled her against him, rubbing her back, trying too sooth away her pain, and his own guilt at causing it, regardless if it was necessary or not.

* * *

L.A. that evening.

Cheryl pursed her lips together, concentrating on the map of Mexico in front of her, with the post-its that covered up the places that they'd already searched. She didn't think about the fact that they were searching for bodies, not even considering the possibility of actually finding living breathing people.

By now they'd search a thirty-mile perimeter around where they come up from the underground tunnels, and another fifty-mile perimeter around the house they'd found the dead DEA agents in. They found nothing, and they could only search for so long in the desert heat without breaks. Not to mention that they had to be discrete, since the Mexican government still didn't know about their operation.

On the U.S. side, Cheryl had Lia send every news source in the Midwest, print and TV, pictures of Matt and Emily. As far as these sources knew, two FBI agents had gone missing somewhere near the border, and anyone who saw them was to call the hotline set up. Cheryl didn't expect to get any legitimate calls on this line.

She'd also, more realistically, sent the photos and information to every police station, FBI field office, hospital, and morgue in the Midwest. She figured she had about a fifty-fifty shot at getting a call from a cop or Medical Examiner. Her only other thought was that they may never find Matt and Emily's bodies, either because they would be dumped in such a remote piece of Mexico, or because they corpses may never be identified.

"Hey, have you heard anything yet?" Frank popped in her office, hope written on his face.

"Not a thing."

"It's not your fault Cheryl," he offered tentatively.

Her head whipped toward him, "I know that, I didn't tell them to go down there."

"I know, but I know you feel responsible for sending them to talk to Felix."

"I am responsible."

"Cheryl, you said yourself, they chose to go down there. You didn't even get the opportunity to talk them out of it."

"If I had sent any other pair down there, they would have stayed on the their side of the border, they wouldn't have played cowboys with the goddamned DEA," she spit.

"You don't know that. And we also don't know that they're actually dead yet."

"Do you really think they're still alive?" She demanded.

Frank didn't answer, he just sighed resigned.

"Yeah, me neither."

* * *

"What the hell are you pounding and yelling for?" A man with a thick accent demanded twenty minutes after Matt had stopped pounding and yelling, much to the amusement of the two agents.

"She hurt, it's infected. We need peroxide or alcohol or something."

"Why bother? Ramon's just going to kill you both anyway," he shrugged.

"Why hasn't he yet?" Emily asked.

"Don't know. But, don't worry, you'll be dead by tonight," he smirked as he left them alone again, slamming the door shut.

"Like we can really tell what time it is in this…box," Matt mumbled, completely skipping over the part about them being dead.

"I guess it's safe to assume we have less than twelve hours," Emily suggested, not really acknowledging what her words actually meant.

"Well, I'm not ready to give up, what about you?"

"Never," she agreed, offering him a small smile.

Matt began walking slowly around their small room, running his hands along the walls, looking for anything that might help them escape. Emily, holding her injured arm against her chest, got close to the ground and began examining where the wall met the floor. They weren't ready to admit defeat yet, and they sure as hell weren't ready to die.

* * *

I just watched Borderline, and of course another story popped into my head. There will be at least two chapters, depending on how it goes. Thank you all as always for reading, and like all writers I live on reviews. 


	2. Day 3

**Day 3**

Matt woke up first again, surprised to find that they were still alive. He looked around their prison; nothing had changed since they'd been brought in that first night. The walls were still the ugly cinderblocks of an unfinished basement, the floor still hard and covered in a thin layer a sand dust. It was still the same hole, and they still hadn't been given any food or water.

He'd been able to ignore it up till that point, but his headache was worse, his head beginning to feel fuzzy, his throat parched, his mouth feeling cottony. The adrenaline he'd felt the previous day at the hope of escape and survival had subsided after their unsuccessful search, and now exhaustion had settled in. Not to mention that he was sore as hell, from the hard as stone floor.

He looked down at Emily; her face was slightly flushed. He brought his hand up toward her, resting the back of it against her forehead, feeling the telltale heat of a slight fever. The infection had begun to spread through her blood stream; she needed antibiotics, sooner rather than later.

Sensing his attention, Emily began to stir, bringing her head up slightly, before a pounding headache set in, and she chose to rest it back down against her human pillow. She shared Matt's cotton mouth and parched throat, but do to the infection her head was even fuzzier, and her exhaustion more pronounced. After a minute of adapting to her waking state, and massive headache, Emily brought her head up again, looking at Matt.

"Hey, you have a little fever."

"Is that why it feels like an elephant is tap dancing on my head?"

"I think that might be dehydration. I have my own elephant," he grinned at her.

"Lucky us," she smiled back at him. Even in these awful circumstances, they could still make each other smile.

"How's your arm?"

"Hurts like hell, giving the headache a run for its money."

"Here, let me have it," he said resigned, he pulled Emily's injured arm toward him, giving her minute to grab on to his forearm, before he began squeezing her wound again.

Emily bit her lip and clutched his arm against the pain, but still squirmed against the pain. She did all she could to not pull her arm out of Matt's grip, and it was a good thing he was strong, or he would have lost it. After almost five minutes of squeezing her wound, and watching his girlfriend squirm in agony, Matt wiped the puss from her arm.

Emily leaned against the wall, much like she had the day before, her breathing labored, and tears streaming down her face. It was so painful for her, almost unbelievable. At this point, she'd almost rather they just killed her.

Like he had the previous day, Matt pulled her close and holding her tightly. He rubbed circles in her back and whispered in her ear, trying to ease her pain, though he knew that nothing but antibiotics would help now. After a few moments he could feel the flow of her tears stop against him, and her breathing begin to regulate.

"Matt?" She suddenly asked.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just…they haven't killed us yet?"

"I consider that a good thing," Matt told her, slightly confused.

"Yeah, but why haven't they?"

"I don't know Em…but, they either going to kill us or help us," he said, lifting her gently off of him, as he rose from the floor, and walked over to the door. He resumed his pounding and yelling from the previous day; these idiots had to make a decision- kill them or let them live. This limbo was worse than anything else.

"What?" the man from the previous day demanded as he yanked the door open, nearly sending Matt to the floor, and tossing two bottles off water past him.

"Emily is sick, she needs antibiotics."

"Did I tell you yesterday that it doesn't matter, you're going to die anyway?"

"Yes, you did say that. Why haven't you yet? And why give us water?"

"Because Ramón hasn't given the order to kill you, and when he does he wants you healthy enough to suffer. He probably will today though, three days is usually his limit."

"Well, why he's trying to figure out the best time to do that, she's in pain. We need something for her arm," Matt demanded angrily.

"Fine," the man spit, grabbing Emily's arm and dumping the amber liquid from his open tequila bottle over it.

"Ah! Oh, Oh!" Emily cried out, twisting in his grip, agony gripping her body. Matt immediately pushed the man away, jumping in front of Emily.

"Christ, are you nuts?!" He shouted.

"What, you said alcohol would work?" He asked innocently.

"Rubbing alcohol genius!"

"Oh, well then, you have to specify next time," he grinned, and took a swig from the bottle before leaving them again.

"God, are you okay?" Matt turned around to face Emily, who was holding her injured arm, and biting her lip again.

"Hurts," she breathed out.

Not knowing what else to do he pulled her into a hug and held her for a while. Right then he couldn't offer her anything, but a tiny bit of comfort, so he gave her that. And, Emily didn't ask anything else, feeling the warmth of his body and the soft pounding of his heart gave her more comfort than he'd ever know.

* * *

L.A. CNU 

"Cheryl, I just got a call from a morgue in Duluth, they said they have a body that matches Matt's description," Lia said quietly once inside Cheryl's office.

"Do they have the picture?"

"Yeah, they said they matched it as best they could, but his face…his face is pretty messed up. They can't be sure." Lia said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.

"They find one matching Emily's?" Cheryl asked her, careful not to use the word body.

"No, they said just Matt," Lia said, her voice wavering.

"Alright, thanks Lia," Cheryl looked at the upset young woman, and checked her watch, "Lia it's 5:30, why don't you head home?"

Lia shook her head and held her arms, "Are you going to Duluth?"

"Yeah, I'm going to book a train or flight now, whichever will get me there quicker."

"You want company?"

Cheryl looked at her for while, not saying anything. Part of her welcomed the idea, but part of her wondered if Lia could handle it.

"If it is him…Cheryl you shouldn't be alone in case it is," Lia spoke, looking directly in her eyes.

It wasn't often that Lia used her first name to address her, but regarding the young woman now, Cheryl nodding her head resigned, "Yeah, I'd appreciate that Lia.

Cheryl knew that if that…man was Matt, she wouldn't handle it well. He might not be her partner anymore, but once you've been partnered with someone that bond doesn't just vanish, especially after five years.

An hour later, after a short argument with Frank and Duff, who also wanted to come, partly out of a need to know, partly out of a chivalrous need to protect their female friends, Cheryl and Lia were on a train. Cheryl promised the guys one of them would call as soon as they identified him, or not, and the guys would be waiting to pick them up when the train came back to L.A.

"Hey, are you okay?" Cheryl asked Lia as the younger woman bit her lip, and stared worriedly out the window.

"I was…I was just thinking about what the cop said about his face…"

Cheryl breathed in sharply, "what about it?"

"He said there was so many lacerations and burns that they were afraid it would take dental records to…to get an ID."

"I grabbed them from Matt's file before I left, we'll know when we get down there Lia. We won't have to wait."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?" Cheryl asked, regarding her curiously. Lia had never been one to beat around the bush, but now she just couldn't seem to say what she was thinking.

"They don't deserve that," Lia answered, a tint of uncharacteristic anger in her eyes.

"Nobody deserves that Lia."

"I know, but…but they were just doing their jobs. They didn't want Felix's girlfriend or kid hurt. They were trying to protect innocent people, and this is what they get for it?"

"Have you ever lost a colleague?" It tended to be inevitable in the business, but Lia was an Intelligence Analyst, all her closest co-workers sat at computers all day. It was unlikely that before now one of her fellow computer nerds was killed. But, for whatever reason, she kind of fell into their little group. She became friends with the people that do tend to get injured or die on the job. This had to be new to her.

"No, I never have."

Cheryl took a deep breath trying to think of what to say, she'd lost colleagues before, some of whom were friends, but she'd never been as close to them as she was these two.

"It sucks, and it's even worse when their friends. If that's Matt it's going to hurt like hell, but it will be worse if we never find them. If we never know."

Lia nodded, her eyes straying to her lap.

"But the good news is, I believe you've already hit the second stage of grief- anger," she gave her friend a sad smile.

Lia returned her sad smile, before feeling the jolt of the train coming to a stop, and the speakers erupt in the crackle of the driver.

"This is the Duluth stop and an elevated station, so we ask that you please watch your step when leaving the train. There will be a half hour before the next station, so feel free to get a snack from the café inside the station. And thank you all for choosing Amtrak."

"Here goes," Cheryl mumbled as they joined the throng of pushy passengers making for the exit. Lia nearly got a suitcase on her head as man yanked it from the cargo hold, and as she backed up, she bumped into Cheryl, who knocked into the person beside her, earning an elbow in the side and a glare.

Yes, that is what she needed right now.

They caught a dark blue and white cab, and made it to the morgue in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes that felt more like ten seconds to the pair, who weren't and wouldn't ever be ready to identify their friend's body.

"SAC Cheryl Carrera, FBI. I'm here to identify the body of Special Agent Mathew Flannery," Cheryl spoke to the receptionist, and held up her badge.

"Of course, let me just call Dr. Ferrer," she told them picking up the phone and speaking for a moment.

Only a few minutes after she hung up, a brunette, with her hair in a bun, and turquoise scrubs still on, approached and introduced herself as Dr. Claire Ferrer. She led them into an operating bay, where they could see a blanket draped over a still form, resting on the metal table.

Still at the door, Cheryl turned to Lia as medical examiner walked into the room, next to the body. "Why don't you wait outside Lia?"

Lia looked from Cheryl to the body and back, nodding and leaving without an argument. She didn't want to see what they'd done to him.

Once Lia was out the door, Cheryl stepped close to the table, only staring blankly at first while Dr. Ferrer waited patiently for her to signal that she was ready. After a few minutes, Cheryl gave the doctor a small nod, her stomach churning and heart thumping as the white sheet was pulled back.

Outside Lia paced and picked at her fingers, anxious beyond belief and already exhausted with all the waiting from the past few days. She just wanted to know if her two friends were dead. She could deal with it if they were, but she just needed an answer. They all needed an answer.

Just as one of her worried cuticles delivered a drop of blood, the door opened and Cheryl walked out. She took one look at her anxious colleague and friend, and then Cheryl did something Lia couldn't have fathomed before that moment. The stress, worry, fear, apprehension, anger, and exhaustion from the past three days seemed to burst from her that moment in a steady stream of tears.

"Oh god…" Lia breathed, as her mind fought the idea that Matt was actually dead, contrary to the crying woman in front of her.

Cheryl began shaking her head back and forth vigorously, and swiping away her tears, "It's not him."

Lia regarded her curiously, not sure what to make of the contradictory behavior.

"I thought- I expected-I prepared myself for it to be him. I didn't let myself hope that it wasn't. God, where the hell are they?" It was clear the waiting was having more of an affect on Cheryl than she had originally let on.

Lia did the only thing a friend could do, she simply stepped forward and embraced her, allowing them to feed off each other's strength.

* * *

Thank you all so much for the reviews, I was actually suprised to find so many. I'll try to keep updating as often as I can, but I'm pretty bogged down with school-related work, which unfortunately has to come before fic. So thanks again for the reviews and reading, and I hope this part isn't too angsty. 


	3. Day 4

**Day 4**

Today, Emily woke up first, with no fever and her arm throbbing slightly less. The tequila, as much as it hurt, had proved to be useful. She shifted slight, not wanting to wake Matt, who was laying with his head in her lap. The bottles of water they'd been given were both empty, though they had tried to drink them slowly yesterday. They still couldn't figure out why they hadn't been killed yet, and why they were consciously being kept alive.

What did that mean? They weren't ready to kill them yet? Why not? Why keep them alive so long, why give them water to keep them alive longer? The only answers she could come up with were that the FBI was sniffing around down in Mexico, looking for their missing agents, and it was making the cartel nervous. Were they being kept alive as possible hostages? That was the only thing that made sense, especially since she knew Cheryl would be on the warpath and using every resource she had to track them down. Their boss hadn't wanted to lend them out to the DEA, but had surrendered for the sake of inter-agency cooperation.

That cooperation had done them so much good too. They were both still severely dehydrated, though their headaches had slightly dulled and exhaustion became less pronounced. Now it was more hunger driving these afflictions, as well as horrible stomach aches that came and went. By this point their bodies had already begun to feed off the fat supplies stored over the years. Unfortunately, the pair were both rather skinny, and their fat supplies wouldn't last long. Likely by tomorrow their bodies would begin feeding off their muscle, and that would really be the beginning of the end.

It didn't matter too much to them at this point though, they'd resigned themselves to their own deaths. Though before then, it had just been a matter of waiting for Ramon to decide when, now it was waiting for their bodies to digest themselves. A bullet to the head, or even the decapitation by machete would have been preferable to slowly starving to death though.

Emily had subconsciously lost her hand in Matt's thick head off hair, while staring off into space and wondering what time it was. This was all her fault. She'd been so dense, she almost couldn't believe it, how had she not seen what Felix was doing? How could she let herself get played so damned easily? She had been so mad at herself the last few days, but now she didn't have the energy to be angry. Instead she was just sad.

Matt, having felt fingers tips touching his scalp, began to stir. Yep, still not a dream. They were still in the same dusty shithole that they had been in for days. He pulled himself up, still blinking his eyes to adjust himself to his waking state. Wasting no time, and not caring that neither of them had brushed their teeth in days, he leaned in and captured his girlfriend's lips. That was his favorite way to start the morning, screw the complete breakfast idea.

"Morning," Emily said after they broke the kiss for oxygen's sake.

"Hey, how's your arm?"

"A little better. I don't think you'll need to squeeze puss out this morning. Maybe later."

"That's what every man likes to here when he wakes up in the morning," he said with a grin.

"You asked," she smiled back.

"The idiot's tequila helped then?"

"It must have, but of course now I smell like a distillery."

"At least you're a pussless distillery," he teased.

"That sounds really gross," she made a face it him.

Matt suddenly yawned, then shook his head in amazement, "I just woke up, how can I still be tired?"

"We're starving to death, Matt." She looked at him sadly; he was trying so hard to pretend their situation wasn't as bad as it actually was.

He didn't say anything in response, just picked her hand up and gave it a tight squeeze. Then the lapsed into a comfortable silence, staring off into space, as had become a common pastime over the last few days. After nearly fifteen minutes of this silence, Emily's soft voice broke it.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?" He turned toward her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't Em. You have nothing to be sorry about. This," he gestured to their prison, "is not your fault."

"Maybe not directly, but if I hadn't screwed up, we wouldn't have had to come down here, and we wouldn't have been captured by this cartel."

"You got played Em. Every negotiator gets played once or twice in their careers, and Felix was smarter than any of us gave him credit for. I probably would have gotten the same result, as would any other negotiator in that situation."

"But you didn't Matt, I did."

Matt ran a hand through his hair, "Didn't we have this conversation before? I'll take seeing the world your way and ending up here, over seeing the world the way my father taught me and living till I'm 100 any day."

Emily was quiet for a moment, "What did you think I was going to say before you said 'me too'?" There it was, she breached the subject they'd been avoiding like the plague for days.

"Going by the look on your face after you said it, not what you were going to say. What were you going to say?" He asked curiously.

Emily bit her lip, "Uh, thank you."

The slightest flicker of disappointment graced his face, but was quickly replaced by a plastered-on smile.

"Matt, that doesn't mean I don't feel what you thought I was going to say."

"Could that have come out anymore convoluted?" He asked with a dopey grin.

"Nice, I'm pouring my heart out here, and your teasing me about my wording," she commented with a hint of sarcasm and a small smile.

"I love you too." There he said it, though his heart was pounding like a thousand stallions galloping.

She moved close to him settling herself against his chest and wrapping her arms around his torso, more comfortable, even in this place, than she could remember being with anyone.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head, and likewise embraced her, content that they got that little conversation out of the way, and confident that she loved him as much as he loved her.

The two soon settled into an easy conversation, occasionally breaking their rhythm when they became too tired to continue. This is how they'd spent the past few days, talking, staring off into space, or trying to figure out the least embarrassing way to urinate in the corner with the other so close by. Regardless, that they'd seen each other naked, swapped body fluids, and become slathered in each other's sweat on several occasions, there was something still humiliating about not being able to use a toilet, let alone having to use the corner while the other one looked chastely away.

But, they dealt with it; it wasn't like they had a choice. And, in a both fortunate and unfortunate way, they'd gone to the bathroom very sparingly the last few days. Just as they had stopped sweating, as they had little fluid left for their bodies to excrete. This in combination with the hunger was why they were so exhausted all the time, why they spent most of their time on that floor, and why there conversations became shorter and shorter over the days. Today, on their fourth day, they could barely keep it up past twenty-five minutes. Not only because the physical activity of talking (often also with their hands) wore on them, but because the thought process involved tired them out as well.

So they talked slowly, taking long pauses, and rested whenever they ran out of steam, ignoring their dire situation the whole time.

* * *

L.A.

Cheryl was exhausted herself as she sat at her desk for the fourth day in a row, calling in every favor she'd ever racked up. Well, at least the ones she hadn't already called in. She'd already made the phone calls to Emily's parents, and Matt's sister, who was the only member of his family he really bothered to talk to at that point. If she wanted to tell her other brother, that was up to her.

Not only was she busy trying to find Matt and Emily, but she also had to contend with running the CNU and the usual crisis situations. And of course, it was now the usual situations without her two best negotiators. She was contemplating what to tell her bosses the next time they called when her phone suddenly went off causing her to jump, before picking it up.

"Carrera."

"Cheryl, it's Mark."

"Mark, what can I do for the bureau's organized crime unit?"

"Actually, it's the other way around. Jack Benson told me you have two missing agents?"

"Yeah, going on four days. Why, have you heard something?"

"Maybe. Word is that Ramon killed Felix for shaking up with his wife."

"That doesn't really come as a surprise Mark."

"I figured. The same guy who told me that also told me he heard that Ramon has two American cops stashed away in one of the ramshackle dumps that he operates out of."

"Did this source mention if they're alive?"

"He didn't know, he said he thinks they might be."

"Do you have a location for this building?"

"Not yet, I'm still working on it, but this is good news, Cheryl. It's not much, but it's still a lead."

"I know, and I appreciate it Mark. Let me know if you hear anything else?"

"Sure, and Cheryl?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I know you were close to them."

"Thanks, but I haven't given up quite yet."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Cheryl sat at her desk, tapping her pen after hanging up. Mark was right, any lead was good news. Part of her was thrilled by this phone call, while the other part refused to acknowledge the possibility of it. What if she believed it, what if she believed that they were still alive? And what if all they found of the two agents was two bodies with bullet holes?

She'd take hope over nothing, she decided as she picked up the phone, and dialed the number of a friend in San Diego's OC unit. The more ears she had out there, the more likely she was to get a location on Ramon's hole in the desert.

Outside her office, Lia was hacking into every relevant website she could think off, desperate for any little bits of information. So far she was coming up empty, though her obvious distress was earning her shoulder massages from Duff when the room was empty. That was actually quite often, since Lia and Cheryl had pretty much been camped out in the office for the last four days

Duff and Frank were often in the field, searching with the teams, during the daylight hours. They were rapidly growing to hate the desert and the Mexican heat. They'd spend the day sweating outside, driving from town to town, flashing the photos all over. They'd be back in the office by eight or nine, and then Duff would automatically go into the IA office and hang out with Lia. Frank would head straight to Cheryl's office and starting marking up maps, checking off locations, and plotting the ones for the next day.

Then while Lia continued searching sites, Cheryl sorting through and reading, and rereading the piles of intelligence they'd gathered, and waiting by the phone. At the same time Frank and Duff would be cleaning equipment and getting it set for the next day, finalizing their next plan of attack. Then finally, they'd all leave around midnight or one o'clock, resigned to coming in and repeating the same thing the next day.

Today they all knew they had three more days before it became ridiculous to even hope. 48 hours was the typical cutoff, but they'd search for their friends for a week before giving in.

* * *

Evidently the closer we get to the shows return the faster the stories come out of me, and this particular story will be finished by April 6th. By then we'll have lots of fresh material to work with. Of course thank you to everybody who reads, and a huge thank you to my reviewers!


	4. Day 5

Day 5

9:00 a.m.

Emily blinked her eyes, in a twilight haze of being half awake and half asleep. It was dark, and she was in a dirty-looking room. She had just enough time to wonder where, before she passed back out.

11:30 a.m.

Matt had been awake for about forty-five minutes, trying to focus on his surroundings. Things were starting to seem fuzzy, he couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten where he was. He remembered the standoff with Ramon, but it got strange after that. He too fell asleep wondering.

3:17 p.m.

Matt woke up again, but only for a few confused minutes. He was so tired, and when he tried to lift his arms, he couldn't keep them up long. What was happening to him? _Dirty floor, smell, smell like piss, water bottles, what, no empty, really hot here, Emily's head on his chest._ His mind seemed to run from one thing to another before he could really process it. Staring drowsily at the door across the way, the world seemed to go black as Matt as pulled into sleep again.

7: 43 p.m.

Matt would have sworn at a bible right then that he'd been at his desk a minute ago. He thought he'd fallen asleep in his cubicle, but as he blinked his eyes, he could clearly see that wasn't the case. How the hell had he gotten here, and for that matter what the hell was he doing here? And who…? Oh, Emily well that made sense. If he expected to find any woman passed out on him it would be her. But, that didn't explain why they were, well, wherever they were. Actually, it reminded him of that time they got kidnapped in Mexico, but that was almost a year ago, wasn't it?

Emily woke up blinking her eyes, completely confused. Where the hell was she? The best she could come up with was some smelly inferno of a room. This was way too hot to be Washington, or even Jersey. Had she and Greg been sent somewhere to help with a negotiation? Her head was pounding, and she barely had the energy to turn to her side and look at what turned out to be a human pillow. But, this guy…this made no sense? He looked kind of like a guy she used to date, some time ago, she couldn't remember. But, she just couldn't put a name to a face, or figure out for the life of her, why she was intertwined with him in…this place.

The negotiators regarded each other, both still plainly confused and unsure of each other.

"Hi," Matt's voice came out weakly.

"Did we date once?" Emily asked, her gaze falling from his as her head fell back into it's former easier position on his chest.

"We're dating now Em." Matt answered her, now disturbed. _Did she not recognize him?_

"Oh…everything is so fuzzy…where are we…?"

"Don't know…"

"Matt?" Suddenly a little information came back to her, specifically her companion's identity.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." _This didn't make sense, Matt was in L.A., but she wasn't transferring out there until next week. She must already be there, but why couldn't she remember it? She knew, just knew she was still working in Washington. _

"Em?"

"Yeah?"

"How long…have we been partners?" _At least she'd know. If she said it was less than two years, he'd know he was wrong. But, they got out of Mexico; he knew that. He wasn't sure how, but he was positive that they'd gotten out._

"Uh…" _What was she supposed to tell him? As far as she knew they hadn't started working together yet. Was he helping Washington on a case?_

"You don't know…do you?"

"We haven't started working…together yet."

"Makes no sense."

"Nothing makes sense."

"You're right…hell's going on?"

"Don't know. Tired, thirsty…"

"Yeah…"

"Right…"

The pairs' conversation had diminished as they fell back into sleep, their minds and bodies too tired to keep it going. Their minds were also beginning to suffer the effects of extreme dehydration, starvation, the desert heat, and in Emily's case the return of her fever. The tequila had killed most of the infection, but left untreated again it was allowed to infect the area again, with less resistance from her weakened body.

* * *

L.A. 

"Uh Cheryl?" Binder poked his head in the IA office where she stood looking over Lia's shoulder, as the young analyst scrolled through documents from Mexico on Ramon and Felix.

"I don't like your tone, what's wrong?" She asked, concerned that his tone was one of caution, suggesting she was not going to like what he was about to tell her.

"Temple is showing the Lehmans to your office as we speak." He said quickly before ducking back out.

"Great, and what am I supposed to tell them?" She asked rhetorically.

"That you're desperately searching for their daughter," Lia suggested, still staring at her computer screen, and typing in a language that only computer geeks know.

"Yes, I'm that will give them so much comfort," Cheryl told her sarcastically before leaving and going into her office.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lehman, I'm Cheryl Carrera, Emily's superior. Please have a seat," she instructed them, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk, as she sat in her own.

"Have you heard anything?" Gayle Lehman immediately demanded after sitting.

"Not much I'm afraid, but we have a lot of people looking for them."

"What exactly happened?" Max Lehman asked.

"Matt and Emily were negotiating and the HT- uh, the man they were negotiating with got away, so they followed him. We lost communication with them for a while, and when we finally got it back, it was clear that their plan to follow him had gone completely wrong. We lost communication again, and haven't heard from them. That's all I can tell you, I can't give you specifics."

"Where did they follow him to?" Max asked, obviously confused.

Cheryl looked at them both for a minute, trying to decide how much to tell them. "Mr. and Mrs. Lehman-"

"Just call us Gayle and Max," Max interrupted her.

"Okay, Gayle, Max, I can be very honest with you if that's what you want, but you're going to have to promise me you won't repeat any of what I tell you." It was Bureau policy not to divulge information that could make them look bad, and two of their agents pulling this cowboy action, that definitely made them look bad.

"We won't say anything, right Max?"

"Of course not."

"Alright. Your daughter and her partner followed that man into Mexico; they crossed the border illegally. Do you understand what that means for them?"

Two heads shook, asking her to continue.

"That means we can't ask the Mexican authorities for help locating them, because if they find them, they'll throw them in a Mexican prison. That also means that the Bureau would like to keep this as quiet as possible."

"Did you talk to them after they crossed the border?" Max wondered.

"Yes, that was the last time we talked to them."

"What did she say, was she alright?" Gayle practically begged.

"Actually, I spoke to Matt. I gave them some information on the man they followed, and soon after the line went dead." She chose to leave out the part where Matt was shouting at people not to shoot.

"And that was it, you haven't spoken to them since then?"

"No. Again, if I'm going to be completely honest with you, after this much time, we aren't exactly looking save them." Cheryl told the couple slowly, letting this sink in.

"What do you mean by that?" Gayle asked confused.

"She means their looking for bodies now, right?" he asked, looking to Cheryl.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"So you're telling me now that I should get ready to bury my little girl?" She demanded, tears beginning to trail down her face.

"I'm so sorry." What else was she supposed to say?

"Come on sweetie, we have to call the kids and tell them," Max, with tears threatening to spill from his own eyes, nodded to Cheryl, before guiding his wife out the door.

As soon as that door closed, Cheryl let her head drop to her desk, frustration, grief and guilt eating away at her like fire to a candlewick. She mumbled an angry curse into her arms, and then just let her head rest there for a moment.

The phone suddenly rang shrilly beside her, causing her to jump a foot in the air, before catching her breath and answering, "Carrera."

"Hey, it's Mark, we may have a location on your people."

"What?! Where?" She demanded, now fully alert to the conversation.

"There's a few little towns to the South of Ensenada, word is he has a few of his shitty little buildings around there. Your people are in one."

"How reliable is this?"

"I'd bet my badge on this snitch."

"Is there anyway we can do this without compromising your snitch?"

"Don't worry about that, Ramon's men have loud mouths, he'll just figure it's one of them. My guy will be fine."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Good luck, I'll have some of my eyes watching."

"Thanks Mark, I owe you one."

"How about we discuss dinner after you get Flannery and Lehman home?"

"Absolutely." She hung up and tore out of her office and into the IA office, whipping out her cell phone as she went.

"Rogers."

"Frank, I just got a lead. I need you to pull all your men, and send them over to Ensenada…" she continued explaining, as she nearly jogged over to Lia.

"Call me when you get there."

"Yes ma'am," he said before hanging up.

"Lia pull up a map of Mexico, around Ensenda."

"We think that's where Ramon's got Matt and Emily?" she asked, her fingers tapping away furiously.

"Yeah, we're hoping."

* * *

Okay, first if the begining was a little difficult to follow, I apologize, but until you try, you have no idea how difficult writing two characters with what's pretty much dementia. Second, I know this is kind of a short filler chapter, but I promise the next one will be longer, more interesting, and the end. It will be awhile coming though, I'm working on two other stories, but as I promised the last part will be up by the 6th, even if Fox disapointed us all again. Thank you readers, and reviewers you are keeping me sane in this chaotic, shitty month. 


	5. Day 6

**3:07 a.m. on Day 6**

Cheryl clung to the door handle of the car as it bounced and bumped along the desert roads, her heart pounding and stomach churning. Frank and his team had located the building the two 'American cops' were supposedly being held in, and she was on her way to meet him. They'd waited for cover of night, and the convenience of sleeping guards, not to mention a handshake with the Mexican authorities, who were meeting her and Frank at the site. She was happy, relieved, excited, worried, nervous, and scared of what they might find all at the same time. But mostly, she was just hoping like hell that they wouldn't end up bringing bodies back.

They began to slow as they neared the cul-de-sac where HRT lay hidden, and as they were pulling in to a stop, the headlights of the Mexican police reflected off the rearview. The cul-de-sac was created by rock formation, and eerily quiet as Cheryl stepped out of the car, and looked around for Frank suppressing a chill. Whether that was the by-product of the palpable danger in the air, or cool desert night, she refused to consider. Wordlessly, she exchanged pleasantries with Frank, and distrusting nods, and a deal-sealing handshake with the Mexicans.

In silence Frank and his people began milling around, shrugging on vests, checking weapons and clips one last time. A few exchanged promises that they'd pass on goodbyes to each other's loved ones, as the people they were going up against were not to be underestimated, and the situation wasn't to be taken lightly. The moonlight shown in their eyes, and reflected off their weapons, while shadows still cloaked them, the combination making them appear sinister. In the early morning darkness they looked anything, but a team on a rescue mission.

The Mexican team had grown since they first began arriving, and unlike HRT they seemed to be constantly smiling, their white teeth seeming to glow unnaturally under the pale moon. A few laughed as others chambered a round in their semi-automatic weapons. Their leader barked orders in Spanish, so that they quieted down, and assembled themselves. Cheryl, Frank, and HRT watched them wearily; they didn't know these people, and didn't trust their apparent bloodlust. They'd be watching each other's backs against more than just the cartel that night.

Frank assembled his troops, and turned a very nervous-looking Cheryl, and nodded- it was starting.

Frank led the way as the highly trained team made their where stealthily beyond the rock formation that hid them, and into the wide-open of the desert. Even in their steel soled boots and heavy protective gear, they were as quiet as a pack of wolves stealing through the night. To anyone observing, they appeared fearless and determined. They were determined, but these men weren't fearless, as anyone else they felt it in their hearts. But they worked passed it, and let the adrenaline take over their bodies and minds, pushing them forward without a second thought.

Cheryl stayed behind with the Mexican police, something Frank wasn't particularly thrilled with, but it was a toss-up where she'd be safer until they got he building clear. Until his signal came, they would wait, allowing the team with more training do what they did best. Allowing the Mexican police to go in with them would surely have caused chaos, highly dangerous chaos, and Cheryl at this moment would only be a liability. Negotiators weren't given enough training for the average assault (which they'd likely never be part of), let alone one of this caliber.

So she hung back, wearily watching the Mexican police, as Frank and his team approached the house. A few hand motions, and his team members knew exactly where he wanted them, surrounding the small, unassuming house. There was no one outside guarding the house. The cartel was that cocky, or maybe just that confident that even if someone were to find the house, and realize that people were in it, nobody in their right mind what attack the cartel. Except of course for FBI LA's HRT Unit, who spread in a wide circle around the house, coming the tiniest bit closer every so often.

Once they had the building completely surrounded, Frank motioned for them to start moving in. He was at the front door, Duff was out the back, and each had a team of men, with others scattered around the building, monitoring the windows. Once they'd gotten about seven feet from the doors, the two men counted down from three, and then moved in at a speed so fast few could have had a chance against them. Two steel battering rams busted in the front and back doors, and HRT swarmed in, stunning the sleeping drug dealers, many of whom were drunk on tequila or high on their own product.

They were pushed up against the walls, and handcuffs flew like a whirlwind, snapping around wrists and sealing their fates. In the midst of all of it Frank signaled for Duff to send the signal, and he rushed out and shot off a flare. Back inside, HRT was swarming all over the house, scouring the depilated house for any hidden enemies, or bodies. They found neither.

"Yo man, you don't got any jurisdiction down here. You can't keep us cuffed!" One man shouted, spitting on Frank's boot.

"Oh, maybe not, but we've got some friends who can, and look, here they come," Frank grinned as Cheryl came in through the door, the Mexican police fast on her heels.

"Aw, shit man."

"Frank did you find them?" Cheryl demanded upon seeing him.

"No trace of them yet, we do however have Ramon here. I'm betting he can help us with that."

"Where are they?" Cheryl got as close to Ramon's face as she could.

"I don't know who the hell your talking about!"

"You damn well do! The two federal agents you took hostage, what did you do with them!" She exploded at him.

"I didn't do shit with them, lady! Maybe your little friends should have stayed on their side of the border," he spit at her.

"Listen, you're going to prison no matter what. You've got nothing to lose, just tell me if they're alive."

"I don't know."

"The hell you don't! You tell me now!"

"Fuck off bitch!"

Cheryl grabbed and shook him, pissed and stressed to her breaking point, "Tell me god damn it! I need to know if they are alive!"

Unable to fight back with his arms, Ramon glared at her and spit in her face. Cheryl immediately let him go, and backed up, to furious to think.

"Alright, this is how we're going to do this. The first one of you clowns who tells us where the 'American cops' are gets to walk out of here."

"Hey, these are mine. Did you forget our deal?" The captain of the Mexican police demanded, reminding them of the deal they made. The Mexicans let Matt and Emily go free, with no charges, and the FBI would let them take custody and prosecute all of the cartel members.

"Relax, the deal begins when you let our people go free. If we can't find them, there is nobody to go free. Besides, loosing one of the boneheads isn't going to hurt you that much."

The captain glared at him, but remained quiet.

Still nobody jumped for their deal.

"Okay," Cheryl took back control, "take them all outside, we bring them in one by one. Whoever rolls gets free passage across the border and visa for six months. That means you'll have six legal months in the U.S. in which you can find a decent job and apply for citizenship. And the cartel can't get you up there."

Frank nodded toward his men, and they began escorting the cartel members out, leaving one with Cheryl and Frank.

"You guys had your guns pointed at two federal agents, where are they now?" Frank demanded of the man in front of them.

He remained silent.

"Come on, that is a sweet deal we gave you," he coaxed.

He still stood silent, refusing to utter a word.

"Alright, Duff!" Frank called outside.

"Yeah?" His second in command asked poking his head into the house.

"Take this piece of garbage, and send in the next contestant."

Duff nodded, walking in and grabbing the man from the room, and dragging him out. Soon he came back in with another.

"What's your name?" Cheryl asked.

"Carlos."

"Okay Carlos, we need to know where the American cops are, can you please tell me where they are?" Cheryl tried another approach.

"No."

"You heard what we offered, that is no small thing."

"Not all Mexicans want to crawl across the border and join you gringos," he hissed at her.

"Fine. Duff?" She turned to him, and he nodded dragging him out, and bringing the next one in.

This lasted through three more men, until finally they got a nervous-looking one.

"So, Miguel, can you help us?" Frank asked gently.

He stared blankly at Frank.

"The two American cops, where are they?"

"If I tell you, you'll really take me to America?"

"Yes."

"Will you take my wife and baby?"

"Where are they?" Cheryl asked, coming closer to the Miguel.

"In Ensenada, I can't go without them."

"We wouldn't expect you to, we'll send two of our men to get them now. You just have to tell us where my people are." She coaxed him.

"You see that door? To the closet?"

"Yeah, we searched it, they aren't in there."

"Open the door." He told them, tossing his chin out to the door.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Frank went across the room, yanking the closet door open, and gesturing, annoyed at the empty closet.

"Look at the floor, it's opens. There's a basement beneath the house, a few rooms underneath, they're in one."

Frank felt around the edges of the floor, realizing that in fact it wasn't attached to the walls. Grabbing the knife from his belt, he flicked it open, and stuck the blade between wall and the false floor, working it around until the floor popped up.

"Looks like he's telling the truth Cheryl, there's a basement or something down here, he said peering into the dark."

"Ok, uh, Duff, get two men to take Miguel to get his wife and baby, and bring a few men in here." She instructed, grabbing the flashlight from her belt, as Frank did the same, and they prepared to go into the hole.

Duff nodded and left, leaving the pair the descend into the dark hole, which fortunately had a ladder to get to the bottom. The two drudged down them, eager and apprehensive at the same time.

"Okay, I see three doors, which one's the winner?" Frank asked.

"This one, it's the first one you see, and these guys are lazy," Cheryl suggested.

Frank nodded, "Let's do this."

Stealing himself against the possibilities, Frank turned the handle, and pushed the door in, exposing a tiny room. Both people immediately jumped back, away from the room.

"Jesus, it smells like a friggin sewer in there."

"Oh god, Frank pull your flashlight up."

"What? Oh, Jesus, please tell me that's not them," he said gesturing to bone thin figures curled together in the corner. The smell was coming from the corner opposite them, no doubt where the pair had made their bathroom. As they moved further into the room, the light exposed the two people, one a man with jet black hair, the other a red-haired woman.

"Please, please, please, be alive," Cheryl whispered a prayer, tearing into the room.

Before she even put her fingers to Emily's throat, the fevered flush over her face proved that she was in fact alive.

"Call for a Med-Evac, Frank!"

"They're alive?"

"At least one is!" She said, feeling Emily's heart beating beneath her fingers as proof positive.

As she hovered over Emily, who lay sleeping in Matt's arms, Matt began to stir.

"Matt? Matt are you alright?"

His eyes came open suddenly at her voice, and he immediately stiffened, his mind was reeling, _had Ramon finally come to kill them?_

"Matt, hey talk to me?" Cheryl coaxed him.

His eyes looked around crazily, before he weakly tried to move his body in front of Emily, protecting her with the only bit of energy he had left.

"Stay back!" He demanded, breathing heavily at the effort.

"Matt, relax, it's Cheryl," she told him worriedly.

"Away…away…" he mumbled at her.

"Matt, I'm not going to hurt you," she pled with him, frightened that he didn't seem to recognize her. She reached out to touch his hand, but her fingers had barely grazed his skin, when pulled back as fast as his weak body would allow.

"Jesus Frank, where the hell is the Med-Evac."

"I had them send to choppers down here, but it's going to take some time."

"Frank! Cheryl! Jesus this place is creepy," they could hear Duff calling.

"In here Duff!" Frank called back to him.

"Em…? Em…? Come on…wake up for me." They suddenly heard Matt's weakened whisper.

"Hey, are they…" Duff trailed off, seeing the worried looks that Cheryl and Frank were wearing.

"Em…? No…no…no…please, please…don't be dead…please, you can't…can't be dead…" Matt begged her weakly, his eyes becoming red, but no tears falling, his body lacking the water it needed to make them run.

"Oh god…" Duff trailed off watching him.

"Matt, she isn't dead. Emily isn't dead," Cheryl tried to tell him.

Matt just shook his head at her, or more wobbled it.

"Matt, listen to me," she asked, but he just ignored her, continuing to look at Emily. Cheryl grabbed his hand, and thrust it over Emily's heart, pressing it close until he could feel her heart beating.

"She's alive Matt." He turned to her wide-eyed, not quite believing, and really, barely comprehending anything.

Frank had had enough right then, and turned and quickly headed back out of the whole, and out where the rest of HRT and the Mexican police waited with the cartel members. He strode up to Ramon, who looked extremely bored, and rather pissed at his circumstances, and stared at the man for a moment.

"What?" Ramon asked, a look of disgust on his face.

Frank didn't say anything, instead he hauled off and let his fist crash into Ramon's face, the man's scream of agony offering him a twisted satisfaction. Then, instead of staying, knowing that he'd keep beating Ramon until he was dead, he left back for the hole.

Twenty-five minutes later one chopper had set down in front of the house, and the paramedics soon rushed in with their stretcher. The group was still in the basement, busy trying to convince Matt to let go of his unconscious girlfriend. He was completely delirious, so far gone that all he saw in them was danger, and even with his limited strength, he gripped her the best he could. They didn't want to force him, but they were running out of options.

"Matt, the helicopter just landed, don't you want Emily to get help she needs?" Cheryl asked.

Matt just stared at them, as he had been the last twenty minutes, but a shuffle at the door caused him to turn, along with the three other heads in the room. The paramedics had made it down the ladder with their stretcher and were walking it into the room, coming over to the group and setting it on the floor.

They approached Matt and Emily, and began taking Emily's vitals. Surprisingly, Matt didn't try to fight, he may not trust people right then, but he trusted the tools they used. The two paramedics gently worked her out of his arms, and onto the stretcher, wrapping the restraints over her and latching them, so she wouldn't fall out. This caused Matt to become agitated again, as he picked himself up from the wall with some difficulty, and started to pry at the paramedics.

"Easy man, we're not hurting her." The paramedic assured him, brushing away the man that was in no shape to fight him, and with his partner, lifting the stretcher into the air and carrying it back out of the room.

"Matt relax, they're taking her to a hospital." He didn't seem to hear her, but with little else he could do, he fell back against the wall, staring into space for the next ten minutes.

Like he was with the paramedics that took Emily, he was calm while the next set took his vitals. He seemed to have forgotten he didn't like the stretcher too, because he got in it easily. However, when they began fastening it, he began to lash out, slapping and clawing at the paramedics hands as they fastened the straps.

Cheryl watched the exchange, pained, getting an entirely new view on her longtime friend, and Frank and Duff just stared in semi-horrified silence. What the hell had their friends been put through?

* * *

Two hours later, they'd finally gotten to San Diego Hope Hospital, where Matt and Emily had been taken. As it turned out, they'd already been examined and were being treated, so there was no waiting around for a diagnosis. Only a short wait while the doctor who'd treated them was paged, and came to meet them. 

"Dr. Max Jefferies, are you all here for FBI agents?"

"Yes, are they going to be okay?" Cheryl quickly answered and asked.

"Well, you first need to understand that both are severely dehydrated, and starved to a point where their bodies have begun feeding off themselves. They both would have been dead by this afternoon if you hadn't found them," he explained, his expression firm.

"But, they're going to be okay?" Frank asked impatiently.

"We're giving them fluids and nutrients intravenously, and Ms. Lehman is also on antibiotics, her left forearm was impaled with something that led to a nasty infection. But, yes, they'll begin to get better over the next few days, and if everything goes well, we should be able to release him in a week, her in maybe a week and a half."

The three bodies in front of him, rigid with worry and stress, seemed to suddenly sag with relief at his words.

"Can we see them?" Cheryl asked tentatively.

"Emily's still out, and we had to sedate Matt, but sure for a little while."

"Thank you, Dr. Jefferies."

"Of course. I'll be back to check on them later," he answered before walking off to his next patient.

The trio walked quietly into Emily's room first, afraid to wake her, even though they knew a bomb wouldn't wake her until her body was ready. The pink flush to her cheeks was gone, so that now they simply held the deathly pallor of the ill, but her lips held the tiniest amount of color, a small reassurance for them. Her injured arm was wrapped in a clean, white bandage, and an IV line led to her other arm.

Cheryl moved to stand beside the bed, and took her friend's hand in her own, and holding it tightly. She noted that the nurses had cleaned Emily up, the sweat and grim was gone from her face. Cheryl closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remind herself that the woman in front of her was alive, because she'd gotten so used to thinking of her as dead.

After visiting Matt, and calling Lia, Emily's parents, and Matt's sister, the trio settled into a hotel for the night, too beat to leave, even if they wanted to. As exhausted as they were, it should have been easy to get to sleep, but they'd been running on adrenaline and worry for the last six days. Their bodies were still pumping the hormone out, accustomed to providing it by now, and unaware that it was no longer needed. It was a few hours before they'd all fallen to blissful sleep.

Lia flew down sometime during that night, and instead of getting her own room, made a very welcome late night call to Duff's. The next morning Emily's parents showed up at the hospital, jittery and half frantic, and by the afternoon Matt's sister had arrived. However, over the next two days, Matt and Emily drifted in and out of consciousness, the doctors keeping them sedated to allow their bodies to gain back the strength they'd lost. By their third morning in the hospital, the two were allowed to stay awake, and Matt was up by seven, much to the nurse's dismay.

"Mr. Flannery, I'm sorry, but I don't think Dr. Jefferies wants you up yet." The nurse told him for the fifth, hands on her hips, irritated at having to repeat herself.

"Then get me a wheelchair," he demanded, before softening his voice, and pleading with her, "Please, please, I need to see her."

"You really want to go next door and see your girlfriend?" She asked slyly.

Matt nodded eagerly.

"Fine, you eat that damn jello, and you'll get your wheelchair, deal?" Matt had been refusing to ingest the jiggly red glob in a plastic cup.

Matt looked at the cup now with disgust, before turning to the nurse and muttered, "Deal."

She stayed and watched him until he'd clean the cup out, finally leaving to get the chair, returning ten minutes later. She helped him get into it, transferring the IV bags to the pole attached to the chair, before swatting his hands away from the wheels, and grabbing the handles and wheeling him out.

"Thank you," he muttered as she parked him beside Emily's bed, walked out, promising to return to collect him later.

"How'd you manage to piss off the nurse already?" Emily asked groggily, coming out of her slumber with a smile.

"Hey, you're awake."

"Enough to know that nurse doesn't like you," she smirked.

"We have an understanding now. I eat her gross jello, and she lets me visit you."

She laughed at him, "I forgot you didn't like jello."

"You know, aside from being just plain creepy, it doesn't even taste good," he said incredulously, making a face.

"You think the jiggle is creepy?"

"Food shouldn't move like that, it's unnatural."

"This coming from the man that still devours those triple-decker, artery-clogging mountains that masquerade as hamburgers, from fast food joints no less," she commented, eye brows raised in disbelief.

"That's different, it's at least food," he argued.

"That's debatable."

"Whatever, I didn't come in here to discuss food with you."

"Oh, and what did you come here for?" She asked teasingly.

"This." He leaned over and placed a soft, sweet kiss upon her lips, deepening it after she proved she was just as eager.

"Don't start something you can't finish," she murmured after they broke the kiss, eyes still closed, head resting against her pillow.

"You keep talking like that, and I might have to bust us out of here early," he told her as they lapsed into silence.

"Hey Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"I meant what I said before…I love you." She spoke softly, nervous even though she felt those words with her whole heart.

"I never doubted it, I love you too," his words came out just as quietly, but she heard them just fine, as he leaned over and rested his head beside hers, both content in the moment.

* * *

So this chapter ends the story and begins spring cleaning phase one. Thanks for reading, and thank you very much to everybody who reviewed. And on a bit of an unrelated note...I just got my graduation regalia, I'm so excited, it's almost over! 


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